Time
by KhronoKameleon
Summary: Each time they met, Marco saved his life. Each time they met, he was his guardian angel of sorts. Healing him, staying there, protecting him. He couldn't ask for anything else. - Oneshot, Jean x Marco - warning for character death, spoilers for episode 13 and slight male/male


_**AN: Excuse this long mess of a oneshot, I just really wanted to write something for these two and for whatever reason I couldn't do anything fluffy or sweet without it turning out... like this. Also having Boyce Avenue's Thousand Years cover on repeat while writing just kills your soul.**_

_**Aka: these two I swear to god are going to be the end of me and I will go down with this ship.**_

**_There is a small smut part - nothing overly heavy (because I've never written smut before this ahahaaa it kinda just happened), but if you want to skip it it's the "third time" they meet. _**

**_Other than that, hope you guys enjoy this! Favorites and reviews are much appreciated - especially reviews! I want to hear your guys' thoughts on this and if I should post the happier, fluffier stuff with them on here when I actually get around to writing them ~ _**

**_Enjoy, my wonderful people. Also please change the spacing when you read it and expand it. Fanfiction keeps putting everything back to default and it's just irritating sdlkjsldkh_**

**Warnings: Character Death, Spoilers for episode 13. Male/male**

**Disclaimers are boring, if I owned it... well, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.**

* * *

**.o0o.**

The first time they met was when he was bleeding.

Stuck back in the barracks, clutching the pathetic excuse of cloth to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood, Jean sat there. He sat there and held the damn tissue to his face, just to watch it get drenched in red and mar serene white. Just the constant reminder that he'd fucking lost against Jaeger _again__._

Again and again and again. It was a constant, never ending circle of childish pride and jealousy, nothing more and nothing less. It was completely and utterly _pathetic__. _Simple things threw him over the edge when it came to him. That constant feeling of not being good enough, of not being able to beat him, of not being able to _surpass _him.

Of never being able to get out of this hellhole and into the inner wall. Of not amounting to what he could be, and dying a meaningless and effortless death at the hands of a fucking titan. All because he was weak and Eren could see that and he just _hated __it __so __much_-

And then there was a warm feeling running down his face, right under his nose where the cloth couldn't hold anymore and gave in. He let it run. He just let it go, felt it drip from his chin and down onto the sheet beneath him.

There was a dip in the bed, right beside him. A murmur of a voice chiding him and attempting to pull him from the dazed and self-hating stupor.

He didn't move. He couldn't bring himself to move.

Hands pushed his own away; one forcing Jean's head to tilt back while the other pressed a new cloth under his nose. They didn't say anything. They just took one of Jean's hands and made him hold the handkerchief so they could pop open a box. A cold feeling rushed over his cheek - some sort of ointment, Jean guessed - and then a patch covered the skin right under his eye.

"You never showed up for dinner," the voice was soft and low; not angry, just completely understanding and warm enough to the point that it pulled Jean out of his trance. One of the suntanned hands pushed his chin to get to the other cheek. Jean could see the eyes of the person now, could feel the heat of the body next to him and see the freckles across the bridge of the nose that was so unmistakable.

Marco offered a small smile. "I got worried and decided to check up on you. Good thing, huh? You're pretty beat up."

Jean couldn't speak. He couldn't get his mouth to work except for open and shut like a fish, completely and utterly stupid. He couldn't gather up the strength to pull his hand away from where Marco was now bandaging one of his knuckles; couldn't voice anything except for a grunt of pain when one of his fingers was popped back into place. He just sat there. Still and unresponsive while the other trainee patched him up.

"I brought your dinner ration too," Marco added, folding Jean's hands on his knees when they were both cared for. "Had to give Sasha some of mine to keep yours intact, though. You know how she gets," he moved the plate onto Jean's lap. Soup and some warm bread.

_Thank __you__. __Thank __you__, __thank __you__, __thank__-_

"Why?" He choked out. Marco blinked. Laughed. Grinned.

"Well, we're friends, aren't we? Someone has to watch out for you,"

"We barely even know each other," Jean bit back. _Too __harsh__, __too __harsh__._

Marco scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Then let's think of this as the start of a friendship. That's not so bad, right?"

Jean stared at him. The grin softened into a smile and Jean knew, right then and there, that's what it'd be.

He stopped eating and handed the plate off to the other. Before he could protest, Jean shot him a look. Just a simple look, but it got the point across nonetheless.

"Finish it."

**.****o****0****o****.**

The second time they met was almost a year later in a different way.

It wasn't too different, Jean could argue, just enough that it was new. With Marco's hands still moving across his cheek to cover up another mark caused by Eren, it was almost normal. Months and months of the same stupid fights brought the two closer together. When Jean would need help, Marco was there. Nothing said, no questions asked; just that quiet hum and smile and pure warmth that followed.

These were the things he could sink into and forget about everything else. Those that kept him going and fighting and so _adamant_ about reaching the top ten, he'd taken it upon himself to make sure Marco was right there with him; able to live behind the inner walls in safety. And through the months between patch up jobs and endless training, Marco was right behind him.

Not giving up for anything, just keeping up and watching Jean's back just the way he did for Marco.

And then there was this new feeling, however much Jean tried to ignore it, that sparked through his chest when those hands brushed against his nose on accident, or when they lightly traced along the marks made from fights across his skin while he tended to them and healed them.

The feeling: tightening, painful, yet so _so _addicting. Each time Jean would flinch at it and each time the other would mutter a small apology and softly laugh. Then the hands would smooth back over the bandages he'd just placed lightly.

Teasing, calming. Just so utterly Marco.

It was because of this that they ended up the way they were; Jean's eyes fluttering shut at the feeling as soon as it hit again, with Marco's hand reaching up to his hair. He tugged on an end and chuckled.

"It's getting pretty long, you're going to have to cut it soon."

Jean hummed in return. Marco's nails raked through his hair; smoothing and toying with it, completely and utterly relaxing Jean. He groaned and tilted his head back. His eyes fluttered shut and he opened himself up to the feeling. Calming, teasing, easing him into a state of relaxation he hadn't felt in months.

The feeling was stirring again, hot and painful and for whatever reason it was making Jean want Marco _closer_.

There were footsteps outside the barracks heading off to the girls' quarters. The hand in his hair stilled.

Which gave Jean the perfect opening to sit up and run off that intoxicating feeling, pushing him enough to turn around and lean closer to the other when he turned away. It was the heat, he told himself, radiating off Marco's body that pulled him in and towards the other's mouth.

It was harmless, just curiosity that urged him to brush his lips across the corner of Marco's lightly. He didn't do anything else, just relished that heat and little gasp that slipped out of the other's when he realized what happened.

And then Jean realized what happened. He realized suddenly how stupid he'd been and what he just _did__._

"J-Jean?" breathless and meek and too high pitched.

_Shit__._

"Sorry, I slipped."

**.****o****0****o****.**

The third time they met was a surprise.

Only a week from finishing training, they were both still in the top ten. Jean was at sixth, Marco at seventh, respectively. Everyone was celebrating in the mess hall with dinner, hyped up on almost being out of there after almost two years of pure endless hell.

And they were out behind the barracks under a tree, completely secluded from prying eyes and alone. It was just the two of them right then. It was their world, and Jean wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Hips against hips, fingers brushing against fingers and skin, just frantic movements. Human movements. Up and down, trailing shoulders and jawlines to where lips met and mashed together; silent and yet saying so much.

The feeling of Marco on top of him, breath hitching to every single one of Jean's touches, was enough. It was enough for a lifetime, hearing his friend's gasps and whimpers he tried to hide. This was them, together, as one, the way they'd always been and would be.

Jean decided this was how he wanted to repay him for all the times he'd dealt with his shit over the past years. He just wanted to show him how he felt, how much he appreciated the other and how much he couldn't bear to lose _this__._

Marco's forehead hit Jean's shoulder, hot puffs of breath hitting open neck. In return, Jean tilted his head at an angle to reach Marco's neck. He pressed open mouth kisses there, brushing against sensitive skin, up and down. The occasional nip would earn him a whine, sucking right under his jaw would earn him a moan that sent a jolt right up his spine.

"A-ah, Jean"

Oh dear _god _that voice was going to be the _end _of him.

Hands grabbed at his jacket, roughly trying to slide it off his shoulders. Jean broke contact with Marco's neck to lean up and let it slip off of his arms. A red mark stood out against the pale skin. His mark.

_Mine__._

He was back, just like that, flipping them over so he was on top now. Marco's jacket was next to go along with the top part of his maneuver gear straps, just so Jean could open up his shirt and feel. Feel Marco's skin; and the sweat that was starting to cover it, his heartbeat going out of control. It was beating in time to Jean's kisses and nips as he trailed his mouth down the expanse of flesh.

Tasting, testing, mouthing unspoken words. The moans he got in return were answers, urging Jean on. One hand trailed up Marco's chest. He pinched and rolled a nub between his fingers, causing the hips below him to jerk up.

Jean groaned because holy _fuck_ that felt amazing and left him breathless.

"Ah, sorry," Marco wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. "I didn't-"

"Shh," Jean had to lean in and kiss him to muffle his own groan. "Don't worry about it, just... just leave it to me,"

_It__'__s __my __turn __to __help __you __out__._

He went with it, rolling his hips down onto the brunette's. As soon as their erections met, blinding pleasure burned through him. Nails raked up his shoulders in return and that muffled cry was back, pressing dangerously into the crook of his neck where Marco decided to kiss and nip at, and oh dear god he could feel that coiling heat. He pushed harder, harder against his hips, felt legs wrap around his waist to urge him on.

He was close. So close it was physically burning him beneath his clothes, and, if screams accosted for anything, so was Marco. Shy nips turned into full out bites the faster Jean went; rubbing and shallowly humping and trying to bring them both to that peak together.

Together, just like always.

"Nng, Marco-" he couldn't breathe. He could only feel and hear and bite back his own sounds.

It wasn't until Marco threw his hands around Jean's neck and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss that he lost it. He was almost over the edge, so so close and so surprised he lasted this long.

He opened his eyes for the last moments to look at the brunette. Beneath him, spread out and completely vulnerable and so damn giving, his face was red; his freckles nearly disappeared from his cheeks and his mouth opened wide with another shaky moan.

"Close. So close, Jean-"

Hips against hips, going in a smooth circle. Jean brushed the hair that stuck to the other's forehead out if the way, guided his fingers down to the lips that formed a perfect oval. Brows furrowed and that look of wanton pleasure made him nearly cum right then.

"I know, let it go."

Jean was the first to lose it. Right when Marco opened his eyes, all hazed over with so many emotions but so _bright _at the same time, he could feel his release. The hand that moved from Jean's neck up to cup his cheek and swipe a thumb across it didn't help. The final piece of the puzzle was that stupid signature grin, and Marco flashed it with his hand still cupping Jean's cheek and he mouthed his name-

And Jean came hard.

His body tensed and a choked groan left his mouth as his hips locked down against the brunette's. They rose underneath Jean, Marco releasing an violent cry as he came. He buried his face into Jean's shoulder as his entire body shook, fingers clenching and unclenching on Jean's sleeves, his sides; whatever they could grab on to.

As soon as the afterglow faded, Jean grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

This he wouldn't give up for world no matter what the cost was in the end.

He decided then that, no matter what happened, he would keep Marco safe. He would stay with him forever.

**.****o****0****o****.**

The fourth time they met, he was cold.

He was cold and his stomach kept turning because that just _couldn__'__t_ be couldn't be, it just couldn't. Jean had just been with him an hour ago; kissing him and holding his hand, leaning in for a goodbye and-

And it was. And he knew it.

He just couldn't believe it because Marco was supposed to _save_ him. Marco was supposed to go to the inner wall with him and _live_ there and be _safe_, and keep that dumb _grin_ on his face while they served the king. He was supposed to patch Jean up and tell him everything was okay.

He wasn't supposed to die.

Jean couldn't breathe. He couldn't bring himself to scream for help. He collapsed right there, onto his knees; just to grab onto the shoulder of his friend, of his _lover_, and stare at him as if it'd bring him back. And it hurt. It fucking hurt and Jean wanted to scream and cry, hit the body in front of him until he got his attention and that chiding voice back because this couldn't be happening.

This couldn't _be __real__._

He was torn in half. The right side of his body was completely missing from his hips up, leaving behind what ribs were still intact and part of his guts. The left side was whole, but emotionless. Marco's one eye stared straight ahead at the building across from him with his arm leaning across his chest.

That hand was the first thing Jean grabbed. He entwined their fingers and squeezed and ran a hand through Marco's hair, the way _he_ used to do for him, as if it'd do something.

But it didn't, and he just sat there in the middle of the street, squeezing that hand and running a hand through the blood matted hair, even letting it drift down to the cheek to trace the freckles he had a hundred times.

"Marco, hey. You're still here, right?" he whispered. His thumb ran another circuit across the cold cheek to the corner of what was left of his lips. "You're not dead. You can't be."

_You __can__'__t __leave __me__._

He could hear the laugh he'd get in return and the smile he'd flash. He could feel the fingers tighten around his own and the warmth ignite back in the body lying there. He could see those eyes turn up to look at him and assure him everything was alright in the world. That everything would turn out okay, and that Jean was just overreacting like he usually did.

But as the sun disappeared and the cold took over, he realized he wasn't for once.

There were footsteps behind him and a woman holding a clipboard stopped behind them.

"Do you know him?"

"Is there anyone who saw his last moments?" Jean was pleading, _begging _and ignoring her question_._ He had to know if the _thing_ that killed him was fucking _dead__, _he had to know that Marco hadn't died alone and terrified. He had to know that the cause of this was butchered slab of _fucking __meat__._ "Someone had to."

"The wall's been sealed off for a while now, we haven't been able to clear out all of the places that were hit. It's possible someone could have, but it's also very possible that they're no longer here as well."

_No __longer __here__..._

Jean felt his stomach drop. His throat tightened and he wanted it to just suffocate him then and there and just let him lay down next to his friend forever.

Next to his lover.

"Do you know his name?"

"Marco Bodt. 104th Trainee squad, originally from Jinae."

It was then that Jean realized it was final. That he was dead and never coming back. That everything they had was lost because he wasn't able to get to Marco in time and save him.

It was his fault. _This_ was his fault.

He failed him. Marco had saved him numerous times and the one time Jean can repay that he can't make it in time. He couldn't see that Marco wasn't with his squad earlier, couldn't see that there was a possibility that Marco was in danger.

He fucking failed. Again.

Again, and again, and _again__._

And again he reminded himself that when the flames engulfed Marco's body in the pyre, when he watched it burn and put him to rest.

It was then that he decided to make something of himself and die a meaningful death. Not one that no one would see and leave him another face burning alone without anyone knowing. No, he'd do something. He'd _protect_.

The flames turned Marco's body to ash and Jean stood there, holding tight to the fragment of one of his ribs that fell when he had to move him. He held it, pressed it into his skin until it hurt while the flames went higher and higher.

The entire time he swore he could feel his friend right beside him, hand on his shoulder and thumb rubbing in soothing circles like he would.

The flames died down and everyone left.

Jean stayed and stared into the ashes, holding onto that feeling that someone was still there with him.

That Marco was still there.

**.****o****0****o****.**

The fifth time they met, Jean was running.

He was swinging and trying to remember how to work the wires of his maneuver gear because that titan was right behind him. He could feel each branch he left seconds ago shake while it pursued him, hands outstretched with that ugly face's mouth spread wide open, waiting to bite him in two-

He faltered, just for a second with that thought. It was enough for the titan to grab him and hold him right in front of it's face while it smiled.

Jean struggled and struggled because no one would save him. No one _could_ save him. It was just the abnormal and him with the odds leaning towards the former's favor. But he tried, kicking and grunting, nearly screaming - just trying to break free. Just an arm would be enough to grab one of his blades and cut his way out.

The titan made a gurgling sound and opened it's mouth wide.

Panic. Panic set in because he was alone and no one could save him, he was going to die alone and no one would know.

He was going to die exactly like Marco.

And then there was a stillness in the air that made the titan turn it's head. A branch or _something_ caught the damned thing's attention up above them. A branch cracked and swung down, hitting the abnormal straight in the face, right down it's open mouth. The impact made it let go of Jean and he scrambled to grab a blade. He aimed for the neck when the fucker's head turned and just let go.

He sliced and stabbed until the chunk was missing, but he didn't stop. He kept going, yelling and screaming and making strangled sobs while memories pressed their way in. Brown hair, dark eyes full of emotion. That laugh and grin and the way his cheeks would turn red or puff out when he was annoyed.

Their first kiss, their first night together and the last night they spent, right before everything went to hell, all came rushing back at full speed. It made Jean's head whirl and it hurt.

It _hurt__, __it __hurt__, __it __hurt__. __He __couldn__'__t __take __it__, __he __wanted __out __of __this __nightmare__._

He swung at the disappearing flesh until the blade slipped out of his hand and into the ground far below. He collapsed by the trunk, using one hand to steady himself while his head still spun and remembered everything he didn't want to.

There was another stillness in the air. Brief this time, but long enough to catch Jean's attention. It was centered right in front of him, right where a bone fragment was laying. Jean checked his jacket's pocket. Marco's bone wasn't in it.

There was a breeze then, light and barely noticeable. It held a ringing tone that made Jean want to cry.

The presence by his shoulder was back. A hand on his shoulder and a voice right by his ear.

_"__Someone __has __to __watch __out __for __you__."_

**.****o****0****o****.**

The sixth time they met the war was almost over.

It was close, especially with the shifters that weren't on humanity's side. But Jaeger- no, Eren, Jean corrected himself - was leading them to victory. He and Mikasa and Armin, all at the head with the Lance Corporal and Commander Irvin. They had a chance to win, Jean realized as soon as the cannon on top of the wall fired downwards.

They had a chance to live and prove that everyone who died did not in vain. They had enough power to kill the remaining now that the Colossal and Armored were both gone.

They could do this.

Which is why Eren and Armin held priority at this point. Jean knew that, which is exactly why he had stayed behind. It wasn't a wall breach, but a group of shifters. Not large enough to pose a huge threat on humanity, but enough that could be bad for a still recovering Eren and an injured Armin.

So Jean had pushed the two ahead. Said to leave the titans to him, that he'd keep em away while they went to the basement.

It was a hesitant decision, one that landed him where he was now, but it was necessary.

Necessary was more important than logic.

Which brought him to this, hiding out in a broken down house and away from the group of titans that were outside. One had too small of a head that it didn't worry him too much about being a meal. Two of the others had leg or arm issues. That rendered them less of a threat than small head.

But then there was the abnormal that was still here from when Shinganshina first fell. It towered above the others, watching and waiting.

That was the one he was worried about.

He clutched the handles of his blades and drummed his fingers against the rubber grips. He'd been in a similar situation like this almost a year ago. Out of a maneuver gear that functioned with plenty of gas.

This time, though, that was switched.

His maneuver gear was in top shape. His gas supply, however, was not. A slight mishap with a building corner when he tried to evade the abnormal the first time caused a leak. Now he was stuck here waiting.

But waiting didn't last long. A green smoke round lit up the air from the top of the wall, signaling that Eren had made it to the basement and back out. Another round followed which signaled Jean's retreat back over the wall.

He breathed. In and out, over and over again while he watched two of the titans leave. Small head and the one missing an arm wandered off towards the house's right; the opposite way of the wall.

Which left the one with a small leg and the abnormal.

Jean frowned and scanned the buildings around him. He could at least use one to swing his way away from the two titans, but when it came to climbing the wall... there was really no hope.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was going to die here. Not entirely a meaningless death, no, if anything he died to protect Jaeger and Armin's asses. They wouldn't forget that. Especially Jaeger. The kid never forgot anyone, no matter how minor to the situation they were. Which is what Jean was counting on.

At least someone to care about him enough to know how he died and why.

There was a breaking sound above him that snapped him back to reality. The abnormal's face grinned at him behind the front window; it's hand punched through right above Jean's head. It twisted the limb and aimed from him, but he rolled, landing messily on his feet.

There wasn't any time to think.

Jean bolted as fast as he could, right out the back door of the house and nearly into one of the shifters. The small headed one stared down at him and opened its mouth, but Jean was already running. Running away towards the wall no matter how stupid of a plan it was. His feet splashed through puddles of blood and piles of rubble, eyes set solely on the prize. That tower of green smoke that still billowed in the sky as a beacon.

Safety and triumph.

There was a crash behind him. The abnormal was running after him now clumsily. Jean looked back over his shoulder, watching as the thing's arms swing into building after building, head bobbing side to side. It's mouth was opening and closing.

He fired one if his maneuver gear wires at a tall building close by. He had to wrap it around his hand and pick his feet up to swing, but it worked and he glided out of the way and onto the safety of one of the lower rooftops.

If he could get to the church, he'd find extra gas canisters there. Intact, filled up and ready to go. He'd be able to get over the wall and make it.

And so he ran.

He ran, and ran, and forced his feet to keep carrying him across the rooftops because he had to. He had to _live_.

But then he saw someone, running right below him on the rubble filled path. Their steps matched up to Jean's, yet it wasn't that. The way they ran; the way they swung their arms with each movement... the trainee squad jacket - that's what caught his attention. They turned their face and smiled and Jean nearly lost it.

Jean jumped without thinking.

He jumped down after Marco and chased him through the alley between two houses, looking back just in time to see the abnormal launch itself and land right where Jean was. Where Jean would have been completely crushed if he'd stayed there another moment.

He followed him. Always right out of his reach and his voice wouldn't make him slow down or turn around so he could see his _face__._ He chased him. Each time he'd speed up, so would Marco. Each time he could brush his fingers against the jacket that trailed out in front of him, the brunette would shift his shoulder forward, just out of Jean's reach. Just like that. One step ahead, one breath ahead and that _laugh__._

_Jean __could __hear __his __laugh__._

But then Marco was gone when he ducked around a sudden corner, and Jean's fingers brushed against the same air they had for the past year.

He'd been led to the crumbled remains of the church, completely ruined and smashed in. There wasn't any way to get inside, which made him realize just how stupid the plan was in the first place. He should have expected this because Shinganshina hadn't been _touched_ since that even almost seven years ago. But he didn't. He didn't because of that false hope and the sense that he wouldn't die, that everything would turn out okay.

But it wouldn't.

There was a figure in the corner of his eye. Movement, as they bent down. When Jean looked over he only saw the dead body of a recent Garrison. He was missing his shoulder, but his maneuver gear was intact...

Jean rushed and grabbed at the belts faster than he'd like to believe. The only thing that ran through his mind was changing his gas canister with this one. His hands were shaking, too sweaty. Just come on... come on and loosen up...

_Come __on__, __come __on__, __come __on__-_

There was half the canister left when Jean threw his to the side and put the new one in. Just one. The other was too damaged with the top ripped off. This one was practically in the same condition. Small leak, but it'd be enough to get him out of there and over the wall.

He was getting out of there.

Halfway climbing up the wall there was a hand that swiped at him. Caught the wire, sent him falling straight back down to the ground. Somehow he managed to land himself on a roof, but his head was spinning and blood was dripping down into his eyes.

Jean moved to get up. His leg refused.

It was then he knew what it was like. What imminent death felt like. The abnormal's mouth opened wide and it's hand reached out to grab him; but he couldn't move. He didn't want to move. He knew he couldn't do anything at this point except sit there and let it kill him. Just another meaningless death; all alone and backed up into a corner, scared and content all at once-

"Come on, Jean. Get up, you have to go,"

And there was that voice. Right beside his ear. The same one that'd said that _same __damn __phrase_ over and over again back at the training camp.

And Jean turned his head but there wasn't anything there. Marco was standing on the roof behind him. It was a jump, he realized, that the other was telling him to make. That if he made it, he'd live. This was the last chance.

Jean took it.

He flung the blade next to him into the titan's eye. He got an ear piercing shriek in return and it moved it's hand to grab at the extrusion and scream.

He forced himself up onto his bad leg. The spinning and pain threatened to pull him back down, to choke him, but Marco was still standing over there with a hand outstretched. A suntanned hand that had a line of freckles riding up his arm and into the sleeve of his shirt, so god damned welcomed at this point.

He ran for it. He limped and ran and nearly passed out from the excruciating pain. But Marco was still there, urging him on and saying his name over and over again. Like a mantra that made Jean that much more determined to grab him and hold him and relive what he missed.

The touches. The kisses. The warmth that the other offered; that Jean had missed for the past year and oh dear _god_ it hurt so much. The voice of his friend.

The feeling of belonging.

And he jumped.

He extended his hand and Marco leaned down to grab him, smiling and nodding because _Jean __had __made __it__. __He __was __safe __and __Marco __was h__appy_.

Jean felt it then; that same warm air he had when he almost died to the last abnormal months ago, the air that had surrounded him when he watched Marco's body burn. His fingers brushed the palm that wasn't chomped away anymore.

Marco's hand wrapped around his and Jean's free hand grabbed the gutter of the house. He didn't pull himself up. He just hung there and enjoyed the feeling, even though that titan was closing in and he could practically _hear_ it's teeth slamming together.

He didn't want to let go after so long and Marco's hand was so warm.

Marco's fingers drifted over Jean's forehead and across his cheek.

Jean couldn't think of anything to say first. Everything, he wanted to say everything, but he couldn't.

The titan was right behind him now. He could feel the air shift as its mouth opened right beside him.

Marco seemed to understand. A thumb brushed against Jean's cheek right under his eye where it had so many times before, and Jean leaned into the touch. He smiled.

Together, they were together and everything would be alright-

"I'm sorry," Marco's voice was nearly a whisper. Jean couldn't give a shit right now at how torn and sad it sounded. It was _his_ voice. His voice and his body all back and Jean could feel it.

He could feel Marco's apology as the titan slowly slid it's jaw up Jean's stomach. Not yet biting, just testing.

"I've missed you,"

That laugh rang through Jean's head. "I never left your side."

And that was the truth, Jean knew. Marco never left. He was always there looking out for him and rubbing his shoulder when he was upset. He was saving his ass and guiding him and protecting him the entire time.

He was keeping his promise.

Jean could feel the tears slide against his skin. Cold and too hot all at the same time.

He could feel the titan's teeth stop right below his rib cage. They prodded there briefly then left all at once.

"Someone has to look out for you, right?" Marco's voice. Soothing and if Jean closed his eyes he could just imagine they were alone together, back at camp or in an alley on a break. The pain in his leg would be from a meaningless fight with Jaeger again and Marco would be tending to it. Erasing the pain and replacing it with want. Belonging. Love.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded. Breathless. Scared.

"I won't. I promise."

It was with that that Jean closed his eyes and smiled, holding onto that warmth and Marco's low humming as the titan's teeth came angrily down on his skin. But those words still rang, even through the hot flash of pain as he was chewed. Marco's hand never left his.

Everything was fading white and black. Pain and cold.

And Jean smiled and gripped that hand tighter until he could feel Marco and only Marco. He held it and relived everything.

The kisses, the biting, the love. Touches and hips and just wordless phrases that meant the world and so much promise.

Those words that Marco mouthed against his neck as his conscious was severed and Jean fell head first into that warm feeling. Into the dark with Marco holding his hand the entire time.

_Someone has to look out for you, __right__?_


End file.
